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Pleasure as a Sacred Experience
As I practice and have described it, the tenth Principle of Atheopaganism is responsible sensuality: the cultivation of pleasure for its own sake, so long as in doing so we are not harming others or the Earth. It’s May Day weekend, that sexy festival of fertility and passion, so now is a good time to write a bit more about this. I’m somewhat wistful about lost experiences of Pagan joy back in the bad old 80s. Yes, we were clueless and somewhat irresponsible—and some had miserably bad personal boundaries—but there was real freedom and joy in dancing naked about a Maypole, in sharing touch and pleasure with friends and comrades…
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Shame, Trust, Safety and the Freedom to Make Magic
Shame. It impedes so much. It’s easy to succumb to the impulse to think that it’s something to be overcome, and that’s the end of it. Freedom, eh? And yet… Someone completely without shame is a sociopath. Shame is a guide. It can help us to understand how best to fit to the fractal puzzle which is human relations. And once having learned its lessons, it’s time to let it go. But we don’t. Unfortunately, we tend to seize it too closely, to internalize its voices, to make into Big Truth About Me what should really only be a gentle nudge, a wise voice about how to be a Better Me.…
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Ancestors: A Conundrum
What the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here. —Radiohead I have always acknowledged that my particular flavor of Atheopaganism springs from an unlikely confluence of experiences which will not resonate for some. Among them are such elements as having been raised with no religion—really none, not even atheism, but rather a complete blank where the topic might have existed—a deep and passionate love for the natural world, and a personal drive towards seeking for the most likely truths about myself, humanity and the nature of the Universe. An atheistic, Earth-focused, ritually-expressed set of observances and practices was the natural outgrowth of the circumstances from which I came. It is a…
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Magic Words
Words have power. In ritual—even solitary ritual—the spoken word can move, inform, reinforce, set intention and make more “real” what is not yet real. By speaking and hearing words, our minds are reshaped around their meanings, and we begin to believe, just a little bit more, that they are true. With repetition, this is a powerful tool for healing ourselves, gaining confidence, and achieving our aspirations. That said, a ritual with nothing but talking is boring…words by themselves don’t raise much energy* unless they are genuinely moving and delivered in a compelling manner. Being able to do this—especially extemporaneously—is both a talent and a skill. Something to work on as…
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Just do it.
I hate that this empowering phrase has been coopted by a sweatshop-operating shoe company, but I’m not going to let them have it, either. This post is about getting your practice going, and keeping it going. Paganism–including Atheopaganism–is something you do. It isn’t just about having a particular worldview, although worldviews are, of course, important. No, Paganism asks that we act: build an altar (Focus), meditate, reflect on Big Questions, conduct rituals, celebrate the passing of the seasons in an intentional manner. It demands that we focus on what we find Sacred, and behave mindfully in a manner that speaks to that love, even if it is in simple ways. (Not every…
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The Liebster Award
The Liebster Award is handed around the Internet to bring attention to smaller blogs that the nominator thinks are worthy of attention and reading. So thank you to Laurel at The Walking Druid for nominating me for it! I hope it leads to more folks discovering this site, and to my discovering many other wonderful ones. Here are the rules for the Liebster Award: 1.Thank the person who nominated and link back to their blog: DONE! 2.Display the Liebster Award on your blog. 3.Share 11 random facts about yourself. 4.Answer the 11 questions you were asked. 5.Nominate 11 bloggers with less than 200 followers for the award, by asking them 11 new questions…
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What’s the Point?
People ask me, “if your religion isn’t about gods, what, really, is the point? Why do you do it?” It’s a valid question, because there are several things that Atheopaganism isn’t for. It isn’t for worshiping. It isn’t for entreating supernatural assistance, nor for attempting to influence the physical Universe through wielding of Unseen Forces. It isn’t for attaining an afterlife. No, Atheopaganism can’t offer those things. It operates within an understanding of finites: that the Universe is finite (there are things we imagine that are not so); that our lives are finite (we die); that our powers are finite (we cannot affect the course of physical events merely by wishing…
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The Sabbath of Water
In my Wheel of the Year, the cross-quarter which lands around the beginning of February is Riverain: the Feast of Water. That’s because where I live, in Northern California with its Mediterranean climate, that time of year is the heaviest with rainfall. The mountains grow emerald green with winter grass, the creeks gush, filled to their banks, and the wetland areas fill into lakes. However, we’ve been in a drought for the past five years. Last year, we had a few good storms before the New Year, and then the sky shut off like a tap. Riverain rolled around and the hills were still a sickly yellow, the reservoirs were empty,…
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The Avalanche–A Poem for January
The avalanche took our home. A wave of ice drove us before it, And everything we thought we had we loaded on our backs And fled, but no luck: the cold fist ground us under. Home. Years. Love. Work. Health. We cried as it passed over us, scraping, Pinned in place, locked in dim blue light: Frozen. The avalanche took our hope. We lay motionless, pockets collapsing about us Stripping away more and more, and we did nothing: Only gazed upward, and mourned, and remembered And night came, and all disappeared But a smear of muted stars. And it wasn’t until the sun returned, and murky light Bathed us in…
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Mulled Wine
It begins where the smoke hits your eyes: smouldering peat, Mutton stew on a broad iron hook, Deep snow. How can it ever have been summer? Apples wrinkling and mice in the barley— With so much to fear, thank fortune for company! We’ll tell our tales, remember how we passed the cold Last year, and that before. And those who couldn’t. The grape leans across The seasons, clasps the hand of summer’s Dried rind, dreaming the new fruit, Calling the sun back, World without end amen. —Mark Green
